A Tale of Soujirou 1: The journey begins
by Aaerdan
Summary: Seta Soujirou sets out to seek the answer to the riddle of life.


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The characters in this tale belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki. It is the first in the ** Tale of Soujirou **series, and continues in **_Give and Take_**_, _**_Question and Answer_**_, and concludes with _**_The Answer_**_. Many thanks for constructive feedback .  
  
This tale is dedicated to Aredhel._**  
  
_ The journey begins_  
  
By Daniel Lam**  
  
"MADAM, it's time I made a move ... how much do I owe you?" Seta Soujirou asked after finishing the last of the meatballs.  
  
Once the bill was settled, the 18-year-old thanked the shop's proprietor and made ready to leave.  
  
"Where are you headed, young man?" she asked after clearing away the dishes. She liked the youth ... he was so polite and cheerful, quite unlike most people his age nowadays.  
  
"Where am I headed?" Soujirou repeated. "Hmmm ... I haven't really decided." After a moment he added: "But I have decided to spend 10 years wandering."  
  
"Ten years? Why such a long time?" the woman asked, surprised.  
  
Soujirou did not answer immediately. Then, with his eyes downcast, he began: "I once knew two men who began on the same path..."  
  
His voice trailed as images of former Ishin Shishi master assassins Himura Kenshin and Shishio Makoto flashed through his mind.  
  
At the conclusion of the chaos of the Bakumatsu over 10 years ago, Kenshin became a wanderer, righting wrongs as he went along. He adopted a vow of not taking lives, and swore to protect the lives of those too weak to do so themselves.  
  
Shishio, on the other hand, continued to be an assassin for the Meiji government, until one day his masters decided that he had become a liability. They gunned him down, set him on fire and left him for dead. But, by some miracle, or perhaps it was evidence of his will to live, Shishio survived.  
  
Fuelled by hatred and bitterness, Shishio plotted to overthrow the government. He would have succeeded; had it not been for Kenshin._  
  
That's all in the past now,_ Soujirou thought. _Master Shishio is dead ... and I am left alone to find an answer to my own question._  
  
He turned to face the lady. "Ten years later, they arrived at completely opposite truths. So, I think I'll need 10 years before I can find my life's direction."  
  
The lady nodded, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. In the end she gave up.  
  
"I don't really understand what you are saying, but I hope you'll take good care of yourself."  
  
Soujirou gestured at the road. "Madam, may I ask, to where does this road lead?"  
  
She shook her head. "I'm not really sure ... but it heads north."  
  
He got up. "North ... now that summer is approaching, the weather will get warmer. Perfect." 

@@@@@ 

It was dark already. There was no inn in sight, but Soujirou didn't mind. He had spent countless nights out in the open before, when running errands for Shishio.  
  
He went off the road, finally deciding on a tree with branches that would allow him a pleasant enough night's rest. Never one to find it difficult sleeping in unfamiliar territory, Soujirou was soon asleep. And dreaming.  
  
Again, that same dream. Always.  
  
He was a child again. Running from the members of his abusive adopted family. Not satisfied with merely beating him up, now they wanted him dead._  
  
The strong live, the weak die._  
  
"Help me, somebody!" he was screaming._  
  
This is a world where the strong live on the flesh of the weak._  
  
The scene changed. He was now standing alone in the rain.  
  
In his hand was the wakizashi that Shishio had given him. Scattered around him, dead, were his tormentors.  
  
Their screams could still be heard. So loud. _So loud!_  
  
Soujirou woke up to the screams._  
  
Those cries ... are real?_ he thought as he dropped to the ground, his right hand hovering near the pommel of his katana.  
  
There were other sounds too: that of men laughing, of flesh being ripped apart, of bodies falling with a thud. They did not seem too far away._  
  
The strong live, the weak die._  
  
Soujirou froze as he heard those words in his mind. Those were Shishio's words._  
  
If Master Shishio's philosophy is the truth, then there is no need for me to go. But if Mr Himura is right, then the strong must protect the weak...._ he thought.  
  
"I'll just have a look," he said finally to himself. "Yes ... just to see what's happening."  
  
He moved stealthily towards the direction of the sounds, which he felt seemed to grow more faint as he went along, but his instincts told him that he was going in the right direction.  
  
It was at a field of tall grass that the youth spied a ghastly massacre.  
  
Men and women lay dead on the ground. In the moonlight, Soujirou could make out the faces of those slain: many wore expressions of terror. Some still bore the look of surprise at their lives cut short._  
  
Am I too late?_ he wondered, before realising that this thought meant he would have wanted to save those who were about to die.  
  
A woman screamed. Soujirou turned towards the direction of the sound. It came from the edge of the field. A group of men - perhaps 15 of them, the blades of their swords glinting - were advancing on a few women. As he watched, one of the women rose to plead with the men. They cut her down.  
  
Soujirou's movements were so fast that had there been observers, all they would have seen would be his footprints and perhaps a trail of dust.  
  
But for all his speed, another woman fell. A third got up. The men slew her, too.  
  
Though he had never been averse to killing, Soujirou never took pleasure from the act. These men evidently did.  
  
As he closed in, Soujirou made out that the last remaining woman was actually a boy. In his hands the boy held a katana that was too big for him ... he looked like he could barely raise it.  
  
One of the men raised his sword to strike. Time seemed to slow as the child made to meet the man head-on._  
  
The strong live, the weak die._  
  
A man appeared suddenly, a little to the left, between Soujirou and the men. The newcomer was wrapped in linen all over, with only his eyes and the lower half of his face exposed.  
  
It was Shishio, his gloved right hand raised. Soujirou stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
"Master Shishio!" he addressed the man.  
  
The man who had been like a father to him said firmly: "This is a world where the strong live on the flesh of the weak, Soujirou."  
  
Shishio gestured at the boy, who was about to meet his doom - he would not be able to raise the katana in time to meet the overhead slash. "He deserves to die."  
  
"Master Shishio, I can save him," Soujirou said. "I can save _him_," he repeated with stronger conviction.  
  
"He is weak. As you were, once. But you became strong. When no one came to save you, you saved yourself," Shishio remarked. "The strong shall live, the weak shall die. This is the ultimate truth that I have imparted to you."  
  
"No ... Master Shishio ... this cannot be right!" Soujirou practically screamed. "I am here now. I ... can ... help."  
  
The man's sword descended.  
  
Shishio shook his head. "You disappoint me again, Soujirou. I did not teach you swordsmanship for this."  
  
With that the former master assassin who had turned his sights on the whole of Japan, faded away.  
  
"You too, are weak," Shishio said. Soujirou thought he detected a hint of regret in his tone.  
  
"In the end, I stand alone ... the strongest ... no one could defeat me." Those were the last words Soujirou heard, for Shishio vanished as mysteriously as he had manifested.  
  
The youth first felt anger, like a son who had been berated by a father he had been trying so hard to make proud. But years of emotional suppression quickly took hold, and the anger vanished.  
  
Time snapped back to normal. The man's blade was mere inches away from the boy's head when Soujirou felled him with a single stroke.  
  
He turned to face the others. "Stand back," he told the boy without looking at him. Whether the boy did as instructed, Soujirou could not tell.  
  
These men, he noted, wore mismatched armour, if at all. And the demeanour of some of them suggested that they might have been samurai once. But all reduced to being little more than bandits.  
  
"Who are you?" one of the bandits demanded. Soujirou merely smiled. This seemed to anger them, for as one the bandits growled and made to rush him. Soujirou met them head-on.  
  
Two bandits were dead before they realised what had happened. Soujirou slew another before a single bandit had advanced one step towards him. To each bandit, the youth seemed to vanish at one place, appear at another to deliver a quick death, and vanish again.  
  
Those who were once samurai could see perhaps a little more, but often just before Soujirou ran him through.  
  
Most of them died before they could utter any sound; Shishio had taught him well.  
  
When it was over, Soujirou wiped his blade clean on the sleeve of one of the dead. It felt good, he noted, to have saved someone._  
  
Even better than killing,_ he thought.  
  
Then he turned to the boy, whose eyes were on one of the slain women.  
  
"Young sir, are you alright?" he asked.  
  
The boy did not respond. Soujirou sighed. _All those years ago, I did not feel like talking, either,_ he thought.  
  
As he moved towards the boy, Soujirou brushed against something at his feet - a top. He picked it up, and grinned.  
  
Then he noted the red patches on the boy's head.  
  
"Are you hurt?" Soujirou asked, a little alarmed. The boy, who looked to be about nine years old, was unhurt. Rather, it was his hair that was the colour of blood.  
  
Something about the boy's face reminded Soujirou of someone he had met before. He was also struck by the sadness, and determination, in those eyes, evident even in the illumination of the moon. He dropped the top._  
  
I know you ... but this cannot be...._

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Soujirou woke up trembling. _What a strange dream,_ he thought. _Quite unlike the previous ones.  
  
It felt good to help the weak,_ he mused after a while, having calmed down. _Even if it was just a dream. Perhaps I should do it for real._  
  
He yawned. It was still dark. After adjusting things a little, he went back to sleep. He did not dream again.  
  
It was already late morning when he got up, this time to the chirping of birds and the sounds of people on the road nearby.  
  
He fished out a bun from his pack for breakfast. As he munched on it, he noted a narrow path leading deeper into the forest. He felt drawn to it._  
  
Oh well ... it wouldn't hurt to find out where it leads,_ he thought.  
  
It actually led him out to a field, almost exactly like the one in his dream. Near the middle however, amid the tall grass, there were grave markers in the shape of crucifixes. A tall man wearing a white cloak stood there.  
  
As he watched, the tall man turned and walked slowly toward him. The way he moved suggested confidence. Soujirou smiled and bowed to the man as he approached; the man acknowledged with a nod.  
  
The youth could sense great power in him. And a hint of sadness, too? But the man did not stop to talk, and Soujirou was more curious about the field.  
  
Amongst the grave markers stood three graves that were marked with stones as well. Tied to the marker in the middle was a torn piece of cloth.  
  
Though he could not tell why, Soujirou felt strangely at peace. He bowed respectfully to each stone in turn.  
  
When he turned to go, he spied the tall man standing at the edge of the forest, watching him. The youth thought he could feel the man's eyes following him as he made his way across the field, back to the road. When he got to the road, the man had left.  
  
Soujirou took in a deep breath, and began his journey._  
  
Ten years. Spoken, it is only two words ... but I need to find my answer,_ he thought._  
  
I will._


End file.
